


Hatred's Origin

by Emery



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Backstory, Break Up, M/M, Mild Gore, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emery/pseuds/Emery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone in Night Vale knows that Cecil Baldwin despises Steve Carlsburg with a passion unrivaled, but there are many who don't know why. Cecil has his reasons, of course--he'll never be able to forget the events of that one fateful night which began in the radio station's parking lot, beneath the stars which twinkled much-too-innocently above him.</p><p>"There was silence as Steve pulled Cecil towards his car, but words weren’t needed in the tense thickness of the cool desert air. Cecil wondered what would happen if he was able to succeed in pulling his wrist from Steve’s grasp, what Steve’s reaction would be if he turned his back and began his trek to his own car without a word. He wondered, but that was all. He had no real desire to find out, especially after the threatening gaze Steve had shot him only moments prior. There was something off about Steve, tonight, and it was frightening."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hatred's Origin

**Author's Note:**

> emeryylee.tumblr.com

Cecil had been Night Vale’s iconic radio host for only a few months when Steve Carlsburg made his first move. When Cecil, imagining with a tired sigh the softness of his bed and the way the hot water of his shower would feel pounding against his skin, flipped the lights off and locked the door to his office and broadcasting room, Steve was already waiting.

“Evenin’, Cecil.”

The blond nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound—life as an intern under the mysterious station management had made him more than paranoid. There was only slight relief when he saw that his assailant was not something inhuman and monstrous, but only his boyfriend. Nevertheless, Cecil’s heart beat a million miles per hour, and he could feel it thumping against his rib cage and pounding in his ears.

“Hey, Steve,” he began uncertainly, then prodded, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, babe, I’m fine.”

Cecil swallowed hard and slipped his arms through the sleeves of his favorite jacket—one bearing the well-known logo of his beloved radio station.

“Come home with me, tonight, eh? Have a drink? Stay the night?”

Steve opened the front door for Cecil and gestured to his car still running by the curb. Cecil looked uncertainly out into the parking lot at his own vehicle, and Steve must have noticed because he said, “I’ll bring you back in the morning. Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t know, Steve,” Cecil practically moaned. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I really just want to go home and sleep but—“ He paused for a moment and awkwardly met Steve’s uncomfortably insistent gaze. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Firm fingers grabbed Cecil’s wrist too tightly.

“Really. Tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s narrowed eyes stabbed Cecil’s soul like daggers which threatened to twist in his wounds until he gave in to his boyfriend’s desires. There was something threatening in the gaze, something dark and foreboding, but Steve wouldn’t really hurt him.

Would he?

There was silence as Steve pulled Cecil towards his car, but words weren’t needed in the tense thickness of the cool desert air. Cecil wondered what would happen if he was able to succeed in pulling his wrist from Steve’s grasp, what Steve’s reaction would be if he turned his back and began his trek to his own car without a word. He _wondered_ , but that was all. He had no real desire to find out, especially after the threatening gaze Steve had shot him only moments prior. There was something off about Steve, tonight, and it was frightening.

His stomach turning in distressed knots, Cecil slipped, full of reservations, into the passenger seat.

Immediately, Steve seemed to lighten up again. After he took his own place behind the steering wheel, he much more gently—though not more appropriately—held Cecil’s hand in his own and leaned across the console to place a sweet kiss on his lover’s lips. Cecil was more than hesitant to return the display of affection, but before he had made up his mind whether or not to move his lips against Steve’s in return, the other man had pulled away and put the car in drive.

“Good show tonight, Cec.”

Cecil crossed his arms and kept his eyes pinned to the darkness out his window in an attempt to keep his vision any place but towards Steve. “Thanks,” he murmured. “Though you obviously weren’t listening.” Cecil was fairly certain Steve rarely listened to him on the air, and while that was of course Steve’s own decision, it never failed to leave a hole in Cecil’s heart, empty and longing. _Under-appreciated_ was perhaps a good term to describe it.

“I was. Out here in the car.”

Cecil could hear the lie in Steve’s voice, and he despised being taken for an idiot.

“I only missed the last few minutes so I could come in and surprise you.”

_It was quite the surprise, all right._

Silence persisted for the rest of the car ride, interrupted only by petty and awkward conversation which Cecil was in no mood to entertain and made no effort to upkeep. On more than one occasion, Steve seemed more than frustrated, evidenced by the way his foot would press a little too hard on the accelerator and his knuckles would whiten around the steering wheel. Cecil paid little mind.

“Would you like some wine?” Steve asked as he held the door open for Cecil to get out of the car and again to lead into Steve’s fairly luxurious apartment.

Cecil’s reply was flat and blunt. “I’d _rather_ have a shower.”

It seemed that was the last straw.

Cecil found himself promptly and roughly shoved against the nearest wall, a fistful of his shirt in Steve’s hand and the larger man’s muscular body pressed firmly to his own. Cecil was trapped.

“Well I’d rather have _you_ , Cecil. And I’m fucking sick of waiting.”

Cecil blinked. He was terrified, sure, but what was he supposed to do? “Steve,” he stammered uncertainly, but his protests only seemed to enrage his boyfriend further.

When Steve reached down with one hand to begin pulling at his belt buckle, then slammed his lips against Cecil’s in a kiss not loving, not sensitive, the farthest thing from sweet, Cecil knew that he needed _out_. He began to panic, afraid, and he struggled against Steve with no avail. His face flushed crimson and he protested as much as he could. His tattoos raced up and down his arms and swirled into shapes unimaginable to match his terror, and he shoved hard against Steve’s chest in an effort to get away.

That was when Steve slapped him and Cecil dissolved into tears—not tears of sadness but angry, frustrated, emotional tears which betrayed his inner conflict. There was a part of him that loved Steve, fell hard for him and wanted him more than the world. There was a part of Cecil that had _cherished_ that swift slap to the cheek because at least it showed that Steve _cared_ for once. At least Cecil was _wanted_ , even if not in the most ideal of ways.

The terror and the conflict that raced through Cecil’s brain was just enough for him to lose control of his body, and two extra eyes manifested beneath the primary ones, the clairvoyant eye on his forehead having been opened long ago despite the fact that Cecil hated what it saw. The tips of tentacles peeked out from beneath Cecil’s clothing even before Steve had begun to lift the shirt from Cecil’s head.

Steve knew what Cecil’s transformation meant.

“Worked up, little bitch?” he sneered and grabbed Cecil’s hair to drag him forward again into yet another bruising kiss. Cecil was so thin and light that it was no great matter to throw him around—to Steve’s great pleasure, he flopped around something like a monstrous ragdoll.

“You like it when I slap you?”

Cecil’s other cheek felt a sting to match the first blow, and through the ringing of his ears he heard Steve laugh.

Cecil wasn’t sure when, exactly, he had become devoid of his clothing, but when he felt the warmth of Steve’s skin against his own, which was covered in a thin layer of his own sweat, his heart fluttered and his face flushed. Steve grabbed his hand, guided it lower, and for the first time in his life, Cecil’s fingers were wrapped around a hard cock other than his own. Steve drew in a quick breath, the air hissing through his teeth, and breathed back out in a lewd sigh. “Yeah, Cecil, you like that?”

Seven eyes blinked.

Did he?

It was interesting, no doubt, the sting of the blows still remaining on his face, the thrill of being naked and scrutinized, the sensation of feeling another man’s pulsing cock—pulsing for _Cecil_.

He found himself nodding hesitantly, though he couldn’t say if it was out of truthful admittance or obligation to avoid additional rough punishment. Then again, would feeling the sharpness of Steve’s fingers against his face again really be such a bad thing? For the first time, Cecil noticed that his member, too, was stiffening.

“Good boy, Cecil. _Mine_.”

When Steve pulled him close and latched his teeth onto the junction between Cecil’s neck and shoulder, three black tentacles slipped and swirled around Steve’s body in an unconscious hug. Steve’s expression nearly _dripped_ with disgust and he struggled away. His nose scrunched up and he made some derisive comment that Cecil wished he hadn’t heard.

The hug had been affectionate, in Cecil’s sight. He couldn’t help his appearance, not when Steve was pushing him so hard and giving him no opportunity to keep calm, not when he was hot and embarrassed and naked and _desperate_ either for release or for escape. Somewhere amidst his thoughts, Cecil could still sense the real world, when his knees hit the floor and strong hands forced his shoulders down, when a thumb pushed against his kiss-swollen lips until they opened, then slipped past his teeth to press down against his tongue.

Something else pushed into Cecil’s mouth then, filling it and already leaking something sticky onto his tongue.

“Suck it, Cecil.”

Steve’s words were far from suggestion—they were command.

“Suck my cock.”

Cecil was shocked, and his mouth worked numbly around the head of Steve’s cock. It was bigger than Cecil had thought it would be, for the brief time he had thought about it at all. Wasn’t Steve supposed to _ask_ before doing something like this?

Impatient fingers tangled themselves into Cecil’s hair and yanked his head forward so his throat was full as well, and the radio host gagged around the swollen member in his mouth. He gasped for air, choked and coughed around it, and yet Steve did nothing but moan and throw his head back in ecstasy. Cecil pushed weakly against Steve’s thighs and tentacles curled pleadingly around the man’s ankles.

With a disgusted yell, Steve withdrew himself from Cecil’s mouth and dug his heel into one squishy tentacle, mashing it into the floor until the tip of one was mangled and leaking a fluid which might have been Cecil’s blood. The blond yelped, then screamed, then begged, and Steve only smashed the appendage more beneath his great weight.

“I told you,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Get those fucking things away from me.”

The rest of the tentacles curled and twisted around each other at a rapid pace, and Cecil grabbed pleadingly at Steve’s hands. Tears streamed down his cheeks and the pain was crippling—he hadn’t even heard Steve’s words through the horrifying sounds of his own screams. The blood-like fluid coated the floor now, squirting obscenely from torn and destroyed arteries, wetting the floor and slicking Steve’s and Cecil’s skin.

Suddenly, the weight was lifted slightly, but Cecil was still given no time to recover. Instead, his head was forced forward again to take a leaking cock into his mouth, though Steve had yet to remove himself entirely from where he stood mercilessly upon one of his boyfriend’s appendages.

What was _wrong_ with Steve? Why was he doing this?

Cecil was confused—couldn’t stop the sobs, couldn’t keep the saliva from dripping thickly down his chin and falling to the floor to join the mess of his own blood and soon—most likely—Steve’s seed. In and out, at a relentless pace, Steve thrust in and out of Cecil’s mouth. The tentacled young man nearly vomited once, twice, every time that cock, slick with his saliva, forced its way to the back of his throat.

Was Steve enjoying Cecil’s pain and his anguish?

Cecil got his answer when something thick and salty shot across his tongue and onto the back of his throat. Through a haze of pain and fear he could hear Steve’s deep, lewd moans as he came, but they weren’t sexual to Cecil—they were disgusting. He spat the come from his mouth on reflex, sputtering, dribbling, and gagging. He didn’t know who Steve was anymore, but whoever this man—no, this _monster_ —was before him, Cecil wanted nothing of his within him. With a shaky hand he wiped his mouth, afraid to look up and meet the eyes of the demon who was breaking him.

It was over now. He wondered if he would need a hospital. He pondered whether the regeneration of his additional appendages was possible. He feared how long the pain would last.

A rough hand grabbed his chin and forced it upwards, and Steve was screaming at him—something about _how dare he didn’t swallow_ and being a _filthy, prude little bitch_. It was true that Cecil had resisted Steve’s persistent yet—until this evening—gentle advances. Cecil had wanted to be cautious, hadn’t wanted to give himself away.

So Steve had taken him.

And he wasn’t finished.

Cecil’s vision was so blurred by tears that he could barely see his way to Steve’s bedroom, but it didn’t matter, as Steve was plenty forceful enough to drag him there on his own. Cecil had long ago given up. It hurt too much to protest anymore. He felt nauseous, wanted to throw up. He wanted to go home, and goddamn it he still just wanted a shower and a warm, comfortable _safe_ bed to sleep in.

He felt himself stretched wide and ravished, slick with something that was probably a sick combination of blood and lubricant.

Cecil didn’t remember much about that night, except for a dream so vivid he woke up the next morning wondering if it was real. He dreamed that he had broken up with Steve on his radio show in the most humiliating of ways. He dreamed of Steve’s shame, how the entirety of Night Vale ridiculed him, and of his own snide grin as he sat in front of his microphone and delivered the painful blow.

What Cecil _did_ know the next morning, as he rode in silence with Steve back to the station to retrieve his car, was that his dream was nothing more but that. A dream. Nothing more. He didn’t have the guts, and both he and Steve knew it.

He knew that he was a coward, he knew that he was trapped in whatever this relationship had dissolved into, and he knew that, for the rest of his life, he would always _despise_ Steve Carlsburg.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always greatly appreciated!


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